It's that time of year when husbands and boyfriends everywhere break into a cold sweat at the thought of performing the single greatest act of relationship mind-reading: holiday shopping for their significant other. This ritual requires a total inventory of the past year in a couple's life — your finances, how you're getting along, your household necessities versus your wanton desires, your sex life, and so on. It's like a relationship test, and our score determines our grade for the next 12 months. So if you unwrap a dud this year, try to go easy on your guy. Most of us put a lot of (befuddled, tortured) thought into finding you the perfect gift. And those thoughts include...

Why does the Internet hate me when all I want to do is buy you a present? The Internet makes everything more complicated. We know you don't believe this; we know you think it should turn us into better gifters. But technology hijacks our good intentions. We may remember that vintage item you showed us on eBay, but by the time we return to bid, said vintage item has been won by Unapologetichipster85, and now there are "zero results" for it. Also, we don't know how to log on to those weird fashion sites with names like Gilt Groupe and Rue La La. Every time we try, they tell us we have to be invited first. You're just confusing us. Please stop.

I'm getting you this present for us. And by us, I mean me. Honestly, we don't even realize we're doing this. In our head, it seems totally reasonable that you'd want a fishing rod so we can share a hobby and spend more time together. Should an alarm go off when we buy a rod that's much, much nicer than the one we've used for the last five years? Perhaps, but nothing's too good for our favorite person in the world (whoever that might be).

I'm getting this sexy present for you. And by you, I mean me. We know how proud you are of getting in shape after the baby. Well, we were thinking that a see-through negligee would make you feel even prouder. Nothing says I respect how hard you worked to feel good about the way you look more than stripper clothes. Oh, BTW, I might have accidentally mixed your present into the general pool — so there's a good chance you'll open this gift in front of my mom and our kids.

I found this with 10 hours to spare. Hey, I finished my shopping early this year! While we might forget an anniversary or be unclear about present-optional holidays like Arbor Day and Valentine's Day, rarely do guys just forget to buy Christmas presents. That said, we procrastinate and sometimes wind up shopping for you at, say, Eastern Mountain Sports, which was the only place open at 9 p.m. on Christmas Eve. Ever wondered how you ended up with that solar-powered head lamp? Now you know.

If you liked last year's gift, you'll love this year's...because it's the same thing. Two years ago we got you a cashmere sweater. We've seen you wearing that cashmere sweater on several occasions (which is unusual, considering that most of the clothing we give you we never see again). Expect a cashmere sweater from us every year for as long as we both shall live.

I'm not crazy, just optimistic. The superfancy evening bag you have no use for because you haven't even made it to the Cracker Barrel since the kids were born? The scuba gear that makes no sense since you haven't left Michigan in three years? For now such gifts are kind of useless, but they're also hopeful. They represent what we imagine doing with you, like showing you off at a nice party or going on adventures in the Caribbean when the kids get older and money isn't so tight. I see them as having a lot of heart (if not a lot of common sense).

I know: I'll make up for all my selfish, impractical, last-minute gifts with something useful! Unfortunately, nothing says sexless, passion-free marriage like a front-loading washing machine.

So what will I do for Karel this year? I want to skip material presents altogether. I have everything I need, and I'm fairly sure the same is true for her. All I want is a night off from being parents. I want a quiet dinner at a restaurant without paper place mats and crayons, a hotel room with a view of a snowy city and no baby monitor, a good glass of scotch, a better conversation, and a big comfy bed where I can curl up with my wife and give her my undivided attention. That's all I want to get this year, and that's all I want to give in return.

But since we're more likely to win the Lotto on Venus, I'm going with a cashmere sweater.

Redbook columnist Aaron Traister lives in Philadelphia with his wife and two kids.

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